


Prisoners

by argyle4eva



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-17
Updated: 2010-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyle4eva/pseuds/argyle4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the LiveJournal DW kinkmeme, to the prompt: "I could really go for a nice abused!Doctor fic. Preferably Master/Doctor abuse sending him to Jack's strong arms for comfort. Bonus points if abused!Doctor manipulates Jack in some way."  (Warning for aftereffects of torture, though nothing "onscreen.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoners

The guards dumped the Doctor's limp form face-down on the rust-streaked deck plating, then they left, slamming the steel door behind them.

When Jack was certain they were gone for good, he dragged himself over to where the Doctor lay, taking quick stock of the other's injuries. It wasn't hard: the Doctor (made young again for the occasion, as the Master preferred, since a young body could tolerate more damage) had been stripped naked.

Jack sucked in a sympathetic breath, for the Doctor's skin-and-bones thinness as well as for the damage on display. Gritting his teeth, he crawled across the floor to the small medkit, placed as far as possible from the two of them. Since Jack had the milder injuries this time out, it was his turn to play nurse: one of the Master's favorite little games here on the _Valiant_, putting the two of them together after consecutive playtime sessions, with a medkit and a little time alone. He was no doubt recording and enjoying all their repeated, futile attempts to comfort one another, the bastard.

Jack rested a moment against the wall, gasping for breath, before beginning the long trek back to the Doctor, dragging the medkit as he went.

Once there, he chose the simplest palliatives, nothing complicated or easy to undo. They'd both learned their lesson after the first time, when the Doctor had carefully stitched the worst of Jack's open wounds only to have them ripped open again in front of him by a gloating Master.

Ointment on the burns, sterile wipes to clean away the blood and . . . other things. The Master'd had a good time today.

Seeing no breaks or dislocations, he rolled the Doctor onto his back. The best plan of all might be for the two of them to completely ignore one another during these sessions, giving the Master as little fuel as possible for later torment. But, of course, that wouldn't happen; their mutual instincts ran too deeply, for good or ill.

The Doctor groaned as Jack settled him in the new position. The Master never provided any painkillers of analgesics.

Less damage to the front, but still some spectacular bruises to the face and belly. For once, the Doctor's genitals seemed untouched.

_He's slipping,_ Jack thought, with bitter humor. Time was when the Master had particularly loved inflicting that form of revenge on both of them.

The Doctor reached full consciousness when Jack was gently sponging down the spectacular, bloody bruises along his cheekbone.

"Jack," he began, and made as if to move, stopping with a pained noise.

"Shh," Jack told him. "You got the worst of it, this time."

"So it would seem," the Doctor replied, voice faint but wry. "Thank you."

"Wish I could do more," Jack told him looking down into those calm, brown eyes. So accepting of the pain heaped on him, willing to sacrifice himself while Martha carried out her mission down on Earth. A wave of rage shot through Jack. "I hate seeing you like this."

"I'm sorry you _have_ to see it," the Doctor told him, with the ghost of a shrug, an unwise movement that made him grimace. "But it's necessary."

Jack thumped his fist against the concrete, still seeing red. "No, it's not. The way he treats you, the way he _uses_ you . . ." Jack's gaze swept the Doctor's body. Nearly-skeletal and injured as he was, the Doctor was still one of the most beautiful things Jack had ever seen. "He should be worshiping you, not doing this."

"Jack," the Doctor began again, his voice full of pain and vulnerability.

Jack met the Doctor's eyes, and what was in his gaze made the Doctor's mouth snap shut in surprise.

"I know how I'd treat you," Jack said, and his rage at the Master melted and blurred into another, sweeter feeling that rose up in his chest, galvanizing him. He ran gentle fingertips along the Doctor's jawline, down to his neck, and then down his breastbone.

"No, Jack," the Doctor whispered, finding his voice again. "You'll only provoke him. He wants me for himself."

Jack's fingers trailed lower. "Well, he can go to Hell," he said simply. "What's he going to do to us that he hasn't already or won't in the future? He got tired of lopping out balls off after he found out they grow back. And I for one couldn't care less by now. I want to." He stared deeply into the Doctor's eyes, trying to force the sincerity of his feelings directly into the Doctor's mind. "Let me do this for you."

His hand slid lower still, and when his fingertips reached the Doctor's crotch, he found growing hardness already awaiting his touch.

The Doctor's lips (still kissable, in Jack's opinion, even swollen and split) parted in pleasure, and the midnight-brown eyes closed in reaction. "Oh." The Doctor murmured. "Oh, yes . . ."

Jack didn't need any more encouragement. He wrapped his fingers around the Doctor's length for a few strokes, rolling the foreskin up over the head with deliberation. The Doctor gasped appreciatively, and Jack reluctantly gave up watching the Doctor's face in favor of sliding down to get to work.

A light tease with his tongue, a flick of the frenulum, then gentle lips, sucking: just the head at first, then pulling more and more in, using his tongue to good advantage against the sensitive underside of the Doctor's shaft, hand moving to gently cup and work his balls in time with the motion.

The Doctor reached down to thread one hand gently through Jack's hair. It was all the encouragement Jack needed. He redoubled his efforts until the Doctor's hips bucked and his hoarse cry echoed off the bare walls of the cell. Jack worked the Doctor lovingly through his orgasm, forgetting everything but the moment and the man.

Afterwards, Jack released the Doctor from his mouth, adding a few affectionate swirls of his tongue against the slick, softening flesh.

The Doctor, breathing heavily, stroked Jack's hair, brushing his fingertips lightly along the curve of one ear, wordless affection and thanks.

The door clanged open and booted footsteps rang on the deck, retribution on the way for their moment of stolen pleasure.

Jack ignored the guards, and looked back up into the Doctor's face. The Doctor looked so vulnerable it nearly broke Jack's heart.

"It was worth it," he told the Doctor, willing the Time Lord to believe it. "Whatever they do to me won't matter. You know I'll always be there for you. Always."

The Doctor stared into Jack's face, reading the depth of feeling, the borderline-religious conviction behind the other man's words. "I know, Jack, " he said, softly, just before the guards' hands wrapped around Jack's arms and jerked him roughly upright and away.

Jack's eyes blazed with renewed conviction in the last second of eye contact they shared. Then he was hauled out the door.

"Jeez, guys, if you wanted a turn, all you had to do was _ask_," the Doctor heard Jack tell the guards, mocking them. Then the door slammed shut, and the Doctor was alone, lying on the cool, hard steel in temporary peace.

The lines of his face re-formed, vulnerability melting away, leaving behind a cooler, more calculating expression. However, the sorrow remained.

"Yes," he repeated in a whisper: a Time Lord's measured tones. "Yes, Jack, I know."


End file.
